Love is Too Much
by Myshu
Summary: Companion fic to "Love is not Enough." Living and dying in Alexandria Castle.
1. Rain Check

**Prologue: Rain Check**

He'd offered her a seat on the sofa across him, but the weight of her announcement was too distracting to mind it. She was standing in limbo between the armrest and the dark little coffee table when she told him. To the far side, a quaint fire eavesdropped over the hearth.

Her visit had an amicable front. The trip to Alexandria was long overdue, or so he told her in his letters, and she was welcomed into the castle with open arms. His friends were there, people she tentatively acknowledged as allies, and together they celebrated what her "big brother" called a "reunion." There was an extravagant amount of food, drink, games and boisterous talk, things that Gaian people insisted were fun. She stood back and observed their revelry with ambivalence, torn between curiosity and distaste (what was the point?), until Zidane prodded her into the party's circle and forced her embarrassment over a round of cards.

Mikoto finally made a friend of the dragon knight, the lady called Freya, who stood up and scolded the older Genome for being too overbearing. Zidane apologized between bouts of dismissive laughter, making light of his sister's awkward position.

At length, he asked why she didn't bring the children with her, and that was when Mikoto remembered the business part of her visit. She knew the news would be too heavy for his light heart, so she requested a private chamber, and he led her to a study on the lower levels that was "perfect for a little chat." It was adequate, she supposed, the bookshelves and plush furniture arranged warmly on the cold stone between the fireplace and small, high window. She didn't plan on getting comfortable, though.

If Mikoto had a knack for anything, it was acting as the neutral party--just the messenger. She told him with a straight face and a clear, steady voice, free of demands or bias. He asked few questions, though stages of confusion and alarm flitted across his features and twisted his tail in knots as he listened and nodded. He had wanted to know, and she wouldn't hide the truth. It was not her purpose.

"So that's..." he started to say, painstakingly, once she ran out of things to explain. "That's it?"

She couldn't say no. He wrung his hands and stared at the rug, eyes quivering behind limp strands of hair--hair that had already started draining of its vibrant yellow tone. That was why he'd written her, in the beginning--he wanted to know why he was turning grey, like his brother, the angel of death. So she came to tell him that death would be his angel.

Her silence answered him. He nodded again, deflating in the chair with an air of something that never suited him: defeat. "That's it."

She didn't stop his conclusions, nor his rising and plodding past her on leaden feet. He was halfway out the door when she caught the nerve to ask, "Where are you going?"

Not even his tail rustled to answer. "To my room. I think I need to lie down."

"Are you not going back to join your friends?" She didn't know why she bothered.

"No, I..." He hesitated and scrubbed his face, stifling a sigh. She caught his weary glance. He'd aged twenty years in five minutes. "No, I'll take a rain check on that. Just tell them I got tired and went to bed, okay?"

"Okay..." Mikoto said carefully, respectfully distant, and Zidane left her alone with what was to come.

It did not occur to her until later that the standard Gaian response was, "Good night."

* * *

A/N: Uh-oh, not this story again. It's like re-run season up in here. Those who read "Love is Not Enough" know how it ends, but I hope to bring a bunch of new flavors to the table here, as well as fill in a lot of blanks left over from last time. Expect more gallows humor and good ol' fashioned angst.

(plz don't kill me)


	2. Fear

**1. Fear**

The frost on the windows spelled the peak of the winter season, when not even the lofty, regal chambers of a castle were immune to the cold. Shiva's rash iced the eaves, rooftops and windowsills, and her breath occasionally battered the glass panes of her balcony doors with a haunted, lonely keen.

Winter nights no longer disturbed her the way they did when she was a child. Back then she would hear the wind sharpening its teeth on the bricks and imagine the monsters in her head right outside the door. They were the same monsters that whispered magic and dire prophesy in her dreams, and at first it scared her, but once she learned to listen to and trust her eidolons, the nightmares faded away. She could rest easy now in the fine silks and down-soft dressings of her bed, Bahamut her great and terrible guardian angel.

The only thing that could bother her now was her sometimes-restless companion, kicking up the covers and brushing her legs with his tail. Even with all the sleepy nuisances, his company was the greatest comfort of all. Every morning that she woke with his arms around her and his soothing breath in her hair was worth it, more warm and real than any summon spirit.

She had learned to appreciate those moments the most, because some days it was the _only_ moment they had together.

So it was that the Queen of Alexandria was enjoying a cozy, quiet night in bed with her husband when the peace was broken with a gasping start. She felt the stuffing in the mattress shift abruptly and heard his tiny squeak of panic and knew that something was amiss.

Queen Garnet rolled in the covers and stretched through a shuddering yawn, trying to rouse her senses. Pale light fell through the gossamer curtains and dyed the room in the dark ice of the blue moon, and he appeared an ashen blot next to her. She watched him turn his back and slouch over the shadowy side of the bed with a harried sigh.

"Mmm? What's wrong?" she murmured, voice creaking with sleep. She reached across the sheets, catching a tuft of short, coarse fur. "Zidane?"

His tail jerked erratically out of the way and he nearly jumped to the floor, startled. "Ah! What?" He glanced back, caught Garnet's furrowed look, and flinched away. "Oh, uh, it's nothing. Just a bad dream. Sorry I woke you."

"Are you going to be okay?" she gently worried.

He spared her a tired smile. "Yeah, sure. Go back to sleep. I just need a minute."

Not to be dismissed so easily, she sat up, blankets pooling around her graceful hips. The chilly air tickled her bare shoulders, goose bumps peppering the smooth cream of her skin. "What was it about?"

He wearily scrubbed his face, dodging her prying. "Ahm, nothing, really."

She shifted closer, delicately brushed his outgrown hair over his slumped shoulders and whispered behind his ear, "It's okay, you can tell me, can't you?"

The lovely queen's insurmountable curiosity got the better of him, and he warily began, "Just don't laugh, okay?"

Intrigued by this warning more than anything, she pulled back and compliantly nodded. "Okay..."

His eyes darted around the bedroom, evasive, paranoid and shamefully dark. After a heavy pause, he uttered, "...It was a hornet."

Garnet blinked. Did he say a hornet? As in, the bug? ...Was that it? The longer the admission hung in the air, the more ridiculous it sounded. She bit her lip once before opening her mouth again, gagging on a snicker. "Hee, what?"

"A hornet!" Zidane exclaimed, suddenly and justifiably animated on the subject. He waved his arms over his head to illustrate. "You know, they buzz and swarm and... and it was coming to get me," he finished lamely, hands falling into his lap with a defeated clap.

"Just one?"

He tossed her a wild glare. "One's enough, isn't it?"

It was too absurd to bear, and Garnet broke down into giggles. "Hehe, hehehe!"

"You said you wouldn't laugh..." he simmered.

She slapped a hand over her mouth, abashed. "Oh, I'm sorry! I did promise I wouldn't. I just didn't think you were serious."

"Well I am! When I was a little kid, I knocked over a hornet's nest and they about stung me to death. They're the scariest thing ever."

"Aw, you poor baby..." she sang, dulcetly patronizing. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned to and fro, trying to rock him like an infant.

Zidane refused to bend. He pouted indignantly. "Now you're just making fun of me..."

Garnet couldn't quit laughing as she planted a kiss on the side of his neck. "Hehehe, I'm sorry. Can I kiss it better? I promise I don't sting."

"I don't know..." He softened, drew her hand over his heart and returned her affection with a gentlemanly peck on the wrist. "I might like it if _you_ stung me."

She was still reeling over the silly confession and trying to make sense of that remark when her husband abruptly turned, bowled her over and started smothering her with prowling kisses. "Hehe, what is that even supposed to mea-Z-Zidane!"

-1-

"Where did it come from?"

"There's no way it came from the vault, is there?"

"I dunno, it's got the royal seal stamped on the base. I think it does go in the vault."

"Then who put it _here_? Did you see anyone coming or going this way?"

"No... I was, uh, standing at my post the whole time. Honest."

"So how did it get out?"

"I dunno..."

Pluto Knight Kohel scratched his hindquarters like a dumbfounded sloth while his comrade conducted a inspection of the door to the castle vault.

The vault, tucked under the western tower, deep around the bending walls and away from the gates that led to the canals and castle docks, had one and only one access point: the door. It was a great, heavy, austere wooden block that filled the stone archway at the end of its private corridor, and it was splintered with the finest iron bars and locks Alexandria could forge. There were no windows, no portholes, no vents, no drainpipes, no loose bricks and no other ways into the vault; it was a veritable tomb, where the castle's finest gold, jewels and other treasures lay buried. Not even rats were allowed to trespass the treasury, and the door itself needed _two_ keys to open, one of them carried by the Captain of the Knights of Pluto himself.

Pluto Knight Blutzen held the other, and it jingled madly along its steel ring as he shook it at the locked portal. "How could this happen?"

Kohel plucked his hand from the crack of his armor and sniffed it before shrugging and chewing on his fingernails. "Mayphe it waph a ghost."

"There's no such things as ghosts!" the taller knight admonished the stocky one. "There has to be an explanation for this! This is a real mystery, committed by a real culprit!"

Kohel spit a dirty-yellow sliver into the corner beneath the torch mounted on the wall, where it blended into the graveyard of flies and sunflower seed husks. "But how? You need both keys to get in, and the captain has one of 'em. Someone would have to get the key from him _and_ us, and then get through the door without one of us seein' him."

"I know..." Blutzen tapped his foot on the bare slate floor, staring with flabbergasted interest at the object of mystery: a gilded candlestick. It was found standing upright in front of the sealed door, its singular, unaccounted displacement almost comedic.

"Maybe you did it...?" Kohel dimly suggested.

Blutzen raised a fist as if to knock the other's helmet off, and Kohel shrank a step. "Do I look like I would do something like this? If I was going to steal a candlestick from the vault, why would I leave it right outside?"

"That's a good question..." Kohel turned up his lip and crossed his eyes, deliberating. "Maybe the captain did it?"

"Are you crazy? The captain wouldn't steal from the castle! Not unless..." Blutzen trailed off, eyes flaring wide beneath a beetling brow. "Unless he was testing us! He stole the other key from us while we weren't looking, snuck into the vault, took the candlestick and put it outside!"

Kohel strained to imagine their bulky, loud-mannered captain sneaking about, the many chains and plates of his armor clattering like a cauldron full of dishes. "Uh, are we sure we're thinking of the same captain...?"

"Huh? You're right, that doesn't sound like our captain at all..." Blutzen reconsidered, and he jumped in place as his mind drastically switched tracks. "What if it wasn't the captain? What if it was General Beatrix? Her squad is always trying to one-up us Pluto Knights! If she managed to get around us and into the vault without our noticing, it would prove that the captain's knights are useless! She's trying to ruin our cohort's reputation again!"

"But, they're married..." Kohel drawled, muddled with the notion. "Why would she do something like that to her husband?"

Blutzen brashly waved his objection off. "Tsh, don't you understand anything about military politics? This is a message! It _was_ a test!" He whirled back to the offending candlestick and fell to his knees, wailing with despair. "Oh gods, and we failed! We were supposed to be guarding the vault, and look what happened! The captain will be disgraced! He's going to tan our hides when he finds out!"

Kohel shuffled his feet, finally alarmed at the mention of punishment. "Maybe we can hide it?"

"No, that would really make us the thieves!" Blutzen snapped up the candlestick, scrutinizing its golden sheen with a crazed glow to his eyes. "No, we need to _put it back_."

"Uh, hello?" Kohel piped up. "We need the other key to even open the door! How are you going to get it from the captain without him knowing about it? And come to think of it, if the general put us up to this and we already failed, what good is putting the candlestick back going to do? We're already in trouble!"

"It's called _plausible deniability!_ We can't get in trouble if nothing's wrong!"

"But the general-if she even-she already _knows_," Kohel sputtered. "This doesn't make any sense! And you still don't know how we're going to get the other key!"

The Pluto Knight's small, sharp visage curled devilishly. "You leave that to me..."

-1-

Garnet was being led towards the drawing room to meet with one of her counselors when she instructed Beatrix to hold back for a moment. She needed the general's distance for the sake of stealth, and she wasn't in a hurry to speak with Counselor Maisen anyway. He had urged for their private meeting "on a personal matter of great interest to the state" the day before, and while Maisen was as trustworthy and patient as any of her council, there was something about that paradoxical statement that rang ominously. What sort of personal matter of hers was any business of the country's?

However, that was not the matter at hand-at least, not once she spotted her consort standing barefooted on the red carpet in the middle of the walkway. At first she was positive that Zidane noticed her and Beatrix approaching, but the way he stared around the corner at the wall (one adorned with a rather uninteresting portrait of the late King Alexandros VI) suggested otherwise. He was turned so she couldn't see his face, and Garnet might have called his attention by asking what was the matter, but she recognized by the sidelong tilt of his head and listless sway of his tail that he was daydreaming.

She shook her head and smiled. Each year it seemed that Zidane lived more and more in his head than in the castle, but he was quite cute when he was lost in thought-even if (or perhaps because) it didn't suit his loquacious personality.

Now, with Beatrix standing down and Zidane off his guard, Garnet let loose her rare mischievous streak. She padded across the elevated walk, the carpet soaking up her dainty footfalls, until she standing close enough to tap his shoulder. He stayed oblivious as she teased a lock of hair behind his ear and hissed shrilly, "Bzzz!"

"Ah-ah-ahh!" Zidane yelped like a thrashed dog and skipped three feet through the air, nearly crashing into the banister skirting the walk. He twisted a breathless, bewildered look around the hall, scanning for danger, yet only discovered Garnet clasping her side and staggering back, giggling like a loon.

The prank dawned on him and his countenance ticked between confusion and anger. "What the hell, Dagger?"

"You-hehe!" She ducked, shielding her beet-red face and trying to catch enough breath to explain herself. She looked like a swaggering fool and he looked _furious_, but it was worth it. "You jumped so high! I-I couldn't help it, hee!"

"That wasn't funny!" he panted, exasperation succeeding fury.

She straightened her dress and stepped closer, batting his sleeve with a light hand. "Hehe, oh lighten up, Zidane! You're the one who's always saying we should quit acting so serious around here. I was just playing."

He crossed his arms and stood aloof with a mockery of a straight face. "Well I'm not! I go and tell you one of my deepest, darkest, secret fears and you tease me about it. I see how it is."

"Oh please, listen to you!" Garnet countered, refusing to fall for a guilt trip. "You teased me relentlessly over all sorts of things when we first met."

"Like what?" he squawked, looking positively offended.

"Like the time you told me potato cobs are supposed to be eaten upside-down for good luck, or the time you tricked me into riding that gargant with you, or the time you told me I had to stick a penny in Grandma Pickle's ear or she wouldn't know I was paying her because she's blind, or the time you wanted to teach me how to swim so you threw me in the pond where Quina was hunting for frogs-"

"They could've been lucky cobs! It was faster! She got her money, didn't she? _I didn't know Quina was there_," he argued respectively.

"Or the time you grabbed me while I was trying to climb on board that cargo ship-"

"Statute of limitations, woman!" he called.

"Or the time you put oglops in my slippers-"

"They got there on their own?" he tested a feeble fib.

She set her hands on her hips and glowered with amusement. "Oh really? What about the time after that, when the oglops were stuck to the bottom of my slippers, so they started crawling away when I went looking for them? Did they just glue themselves there, too?"

As the couple quarreled, Beatrix exercised valiant restraint behind a smirk. After some minutes she coughed to usher the queen along. "Ahem. I hate to interrupt, Your Majesty, but Counselor Maisen is waiting for us."

Garnet backed off, nodding to the general. "Yes, I suppose I must go."

Zidane waved cheerfully at the interruption. "Thanks for the save, Beatrix!"

Garnet huffed over her shoulder as she took her escort's arm, "Don't think this is over, mister!"

"Aw man..." whimpered the defeated party.

"Well played, Your Majesty," Beatrix remarked dryly once they rounded the corner.

The queen smiled despite herself. "Thank you."

Zidane checked a grin of his own before shrugging the episode off, picking up a foot and heading back to... where was he going, anyway?

Fortunately the next distraction bumbled right into his path: a pair of disheveled Pluto Knights. The shorter addressed him first, his breath hesitant, "Uh, Mister Prince Consort, Sir..."

Zidane squinted at the two until he recognized them. "Huh? Oh, hi Blutzen, Kohel. What's up?"

"We need to ask you a favor!" the taller belted out. Kohel nodded hastily in tune. "A secret favor. Of secrecy. Secret-flavored."

Zidane's eyebrows steadily climbed into his snowy hair as their bizarre request unraveled. "So, you want me a snatch a key from ol' Rusty..." he determined at length, rolling the sentence over his tongue and savoring the taste.

"Please? We need it to-" Blutzen gruffly jabbed his partner in the side and finished for him, "We need it for something important! It's a surprise, for the captain."

"Huh. If you say so," Zidane allowed. He folded his arms and feigned professional indifference, even as he asked with sing-song satisfaction, "And what am I gonna get in return, hmm?"

"Uh..." The knights exchanged stymied glances. Blutzen bent towards Kohel's ear and muttered, "(How much gil do you have on you?)"

Kohel patted his armored thighs, questing for impossible pockets. "(Thirty-five?)"

"(That's it?)"

"(Well how much do YOU have, huh?)"

"Psh, I don't want your money," Zidane heard them. He blithely rolled his shoulders and agreed, "Tell you what, this one's on the house. For the sport of it."

The knights hopped with glee. "Oh man, thank you!" "We owe you big-time."

Blutzen cuffed the back of the other's helmet. "Oh hey, we're supposed to be back at our posts!"

"Wuh-oh!"

And like that they scampered away, conversation aborted. Zidane watched them run downstairs like a pair of wet ducks taking off, and clucked smugly. "Suckers." He strolled off, preening and intent on his new task.

"Today's going to be fun," he purred, but then he suddenly remembered where he was supposed to be going in the first place. Zidane spun on his heels with a flourish and marched the other way. "Whoops, almost forgot. Business before pleasure."

-1-

Garnet briskly brushed her hair away from her face and smoothed out the kinks in her green dress before arriving in the drawing room. Beatrix lingered outside the door, and within stood the counselor, one elbow braced against the tall back of a felt chair while his fingers flitted across the pages of an antique book. He promptly descried her entrance, shut the volume and bowed to his queen.

She returned a small curtsy and began, "It's nice to see you today, Counselor Maisen. What's the matter of this meeting?"

Garnet had started working with Maisen two years after she took the throne. He had a moderate, yet strong and dignified manner in all things, even his appearance. His stony grey hair and beard were trimmed squarely around a face chiseled from sandstone, and his cloths were cut broad and straight, with few ornaments. Serious to a fault, he rarely spoke on frivolous things, and that garnered both Garnet's respect and worry; whatever his reason for calling her today was going to have some weight.

He gestured to the chair opposite his. "Shall we sit?"

They settled around a short table, upon which Maisen left his book. Garnet's gaze hovered on the barren tea tray next to it, and especially the reflected panes of the room's large, reticulated window, its little sky-blue squares distorted in the glossy silver.

The black wisp of a bird arrowed across the image and Maisen spoke again, predictably direct. "It is not my wish to impose, Your Majesty, but the rest of the council asked me to speak with you on a matter that has been troubling them for some time."

"Then why have they not addressed me in the council hall before, as they do all their other issues?"

His dark, staid eyes were barely apologetic. "This matter is a little too delicate to flaunt across the council floor. Also, it is not of any urgency... yet. We wished to consult Your Majesty in a discreet fashion, out of respect for privacy. There's no need to kindle any unwarranted rumors. So here we are."

An inkling of trouble fluttered in her chest. "Yes, so we are. What is the matter, then?"

"The House of Alexandros has suffered a great deal in recent years, we understand. The terrible loss of your father and mother still affect the people of this country today. We are proud and privileged to have Queen Brahne's only daughter survive to the throne, and are happy for Your Majesty's marriage to the prince consort, but the townspeople as well as those within this castle have begun to wonder."

"Oh?" The seed of dread in the pit of Garnet's stomach flowered into realization, just as Maisen leaned forward and subtly inquired:

"It's been almost five years. What are Your Majesty's plans for an heir?"

-1-

"Say it ain't so, Doc."

Doctor Tot's test subject squirmed on the pallet in the corner of the study, his wide blue eyes bulging with tumescent anxiety at the sight of the needle on the tip of the doctor's syringe.

"Yes," the doctor confirmed his fears, swabbing the fine instrument with a cotton ball dipped in alcohol. "It's time to draw a little blood."

Zidane Tribal, the self-proclaimed "world's greatest bandit," was struck timid by few men and fewer beasts, but needles were his hidden bane. Next to hornets. The two were related, actually. Being also the "world's finest actor," however, enabled him to mask his secret shame with a cool argument.

"Aw Doc, why do you gotta be poking and sticking me? I can tell you I'm totally healthy. Like a spring chocobo." He flexed his arms as he spoke to demonstrate a limber, virile form, but lost his cadence when his shoulder gave an incriminatingly painful pop. "Ow."

Tot, always informative and never condescending, plainly reiterated, "I've told you, it's not just a check-up. That's a job for the castle physician. I'm fascinated by your people-both their history and physiology. You gave me permission to use you for a case study, if you'll recall."

That much was true, the Genome had to admit. Tot had approached him for his "case study" not long after learning of Zidane's alien heritage. From his shiny black shoes to the tip of his top hat, Tot was a curious scholar through and through, and he had a score of questions that Zidane readily admitted he was not qualified to answer. He redirected all of Tot's queries to his sister's doorstep (who was decidedly the "genome expert"), and then stood back and washed his hands of the matter. The doctor and the young girl wrote each other often, and apparently some of Mikoto's letters on the subject of Genomes were so "enticing" (on a strictly academic level, Zidane prayed to the gods) that Tot became eager to "study a specimen in person."

Since the only Genome residing on Tot's side of the world happened to be Mikoto's brother, that specimen inevitably became Zidane. The two formed a tenuous agreement punctuated by monthly visits, during which the doctor would subject Zidane to "tests," "samples," "experiments" and other utterly intellectual activities that the Genome none-the-less tolerated, not only because Tot was a good friend and old teacher of his wife's, but because it honestly gave him something to look forward to-a bizarre event to break up the monotony of castle life.

Tot had easy access to his case study via Gargant Roo, which connected Alexandria Castle to the doctor's tower in Treno. Garnet graciously afforded him a room on the ground floor to use as a study-cum-doctor's office. It might've been originally intended as a barrack, which explained the pair of bunks on the east wall, the footlocker in the opposite corner, the crude wooden furnishings, the rough brick walls and the low, stripped ceiling. If enough lamps were lit, the place seemed quaint in a rather dungeon-esque way. At least Tot appreciated it, saying it all reminded him of home.

Zidane swallowed thickly and swerved his eyes away from the impending needle, seeking a diversion in the grimy, charred bricks over the rafters. All he spied was an unhelpful lantern hanging by a rusty nail. "Yeah, I know, but I'm just sayin'! It's a little... uh..." The needle hooked his gaze again and his nerve failed him, leaving the half-eaten sentence on the plate.

Tot tilted his head thoughtfully, his large round spectacles slipping a notch down his colorless beak. "If it makes you that uncomfortable, we can stop at any time."

The Genome shook his head vehemently, tail sweeping the wall behind him. He sat up straight on the edge of the pallet and asserted, "No! Ah, no no, go ahead. I mean, uh, I'm okay with it, I guess. It's just you sound like my sister sometimes, treating me like a lab rat."

"I might take that as a compliment; your sister is a highly intelligent scientist. I've had plenty of correspondence with Miss Mikoto, and she always has interesting facts to share with me."

"Then why don't you stick _her_?" Zidane blurted, more high-strung and defensive than he intended. Tot paused, a bemused twinkle to his eye, and Zidane immediately recanted, "Ah geez, I meant with the needle. That didn't sound right." On a second thought, his complexion waned with a grimace. "Oh man, gonna puke now."

Tot took his melodrama in stride. "Ohoho, you are quite a card. I know what you meant." He continued to assure the Genome as he arranged some vials on the table, "Anyway, this is for Her Majesty, too. You know she's interested in your well-being."

Zidane snorted. "Psh, don't remind me. She made me see that guy once, Doctor Prick. I've seen bastards in jail get better treatment."

"Haha, do you mean Doctor Pret? His practice can be a little... inflexible," he said kindly. "What did the queen make you see him for?"

"Just a check-up, she said. She gets one every year from the guy, and thought it would be a good idea to rope me in, too. Honestly Doc, I'd rather see you. You're a helluva lot nicer about it."

The dusty red feathers of Tot's cheeks rustled with a blush. "Hoho, I'm most flattered, though I'm not actually a medical sort of doctor." He then shuffled closer, syringe intently held outward. "I'm sure you trust me enough to hold still so I can get a blood sample, though."

A ripple of panic pitched Zidane on his haunches at the edge of the mat, fingers and toes curled simian-like around the bunk's metal support and tail perked high over his head. "H-Hey now, seriously, is this necessary? Flattery gets me nowhere, huh?"

"You're not afraid of a little old needle, are you?" Tot poked at his pride.

"O-of course not. But surely there's a better way! One not involving sticking me...?"

"It is the simplest way to acquire a blood sample. It'll just take a moment."

Placating as the doctor's tone was, Zidane wasn't persuaded. "Okay, I can play this," he started to bargain. "What's your price? Money? I'm the prince consort, y'know. I could make you one of the richest men in the kingdom."

"I have it as a matter of fact that the prince consort is not entitled to one royal pence," Tot flatly riposted.

Zidane frowned sourly into the corner, cursing his fruitless bluff. He then leveled an earnest look with the stout, elderly demi-bird. "Look Doc, I didn't sign up for this. I mean yeah, the cotton swabs and funny potions and weird psycho babble are par for the course, but this is going too far."

Tot openly shrugged. "Does it really bother you that much? I assure you it's a completely safe, relatively painless procedure."

"I-I'm sure it is! I just don't... please?" he trailed off on a high, pleading pitch, flailing against the doctor's calm logic.

Tot stopped in his tracks and hummed, considering him. Zidane looked like a spooked bird about to fly off, his breathing wild, his pupils shrunk to feline slits and flecks of wet terror beading in the corners of his eyes. The doctor effectively got the impression that one step closer would provoke disaster, so he relented, packing the needle back into his briefcase. "Very well. We'll forgo this test for now."

With a gusty sigh of relief, Zidane sat down, dropped his feet back over the side of the pallet and sagged against the wall. Tot chuckled at his overblown reaction. "Were you really that frightened? You worked up a sweat, there."

"I wasn't scared..." Zidane said moodily, wiping the mentioned sweat from his neck.

Tot laughed again, benevolently dismissive. "Ahah, of course you weren't. Forget I mentioned it." He pushed a short, peg-legged stool up to Zidane's bunk and balanced atop it, meeting his patient eye-to-eye. "Let's get your check-up out of the way and we'll be done for today." Embarrassed and flustered into submission, the Genome held still and quiet while the doctor pinched his skin, plucked his ear and fumbled with his hair.

The doctor's meticulous digits began to comb through the tomcat fluff of his tail, and Zidane struggled not to reflexively flick it out of reach. Eventually it made him uncomfortable enough to ask, "Why are you checking out my tail...?"

"It's relevant..." Tot mumbled. "So, how have things been going here? Still think the castle is too 'boring and routine'?"

Zidane pounced on the invitation to talk about something else. "As ever. I try to spice things up a bit, though. You know, add my own _personal touch_ to the place."

"Nothing illicit, I hope."

"Com'on, whadd'ya take me for, a criminal? I'm totally done with that stuff."

"You said it, not me."

Zidane squinted at him. "Clever. What about you, Doc? What've you been up to? It's been like six years since you came by."

"Oho, it hasn't been six months, but I appreciate your hyperbole. And yes, I've been occupied with my observatory in Treno. Building up quite a library there now, you see. And I've started mapping constellations, after the great Mark Lucidio and his old star-charts. Acquired a nice telescope just for the purpose. It's very fulfilling work, watching the heavens."

"I guess so. Everybody's got their niche," Zidane commented glumly.

"You do too, whether you realize it or not."

Zidane blinked, stuck dumb by the unwarranted yet insightful remark. He was trying to form some jocose response when he noticed the doctor staring directly at him, the feathers creased atop his brow in a disquieted array.

"What, is there something on my face?"

Tot sniffed and shuddered, his trance broken. "Ahm, no, no, pardon me." As if reconsidering, he lowered his voice to something confidential. "You are okay, aren't you?"

Everything sincere and concerned about the question was so disconcerting that Zidane wasn't sure how to respond. "Yeah," he said after a moment, his usual light, flippant tone dropped in muted surprise. "Yeah, everything's fine."

Tot accepted the answer with a lukewarm smile and rummaged through his briefcase, withdrawing a peculiar instrument. It was a thin wooden tube with an earpiece affixed to one end and an empty bell to the other.

"What the heck is that thing?"

"It's a monaural diagnostic device," was Tot's textbook answer.

"What?"

"We're thinking of calling it a stethoscope-my cousin and I, that is. Would you take off your shirt, please?"

"_What_?"

"Don't look so alarmed; I'm going to use it to listen to your heart and lungs. The stethoscope amplifies sounds in the chest cavity. Interesting, isn't it?"

The way Tot brandished the device, he seemed quite proud of it. Zidane quirked his brow and twitched his tail, almost impressed. "You made it? You and your cousin?"

"We certainly did. He's the medical doctor in the family, you see. Now, if you would please..."

"Oh. Uh... okay." Zidane took his cue and shrugged out of his shirt, though not without apprehension; he knew the first thing the old man was going to notice was-

"Goodness, you're all bones."

Zidane frowned as a surly child would at scolding parents. "Yeah yeah, I know. It's better than it looks!"

He had to say that, because he knew he didn't look good. Skin paled from years of sheltering behind castle walls only accentuated his old, hard-won blemishes-scars from wicked battles, rowdy bar fights and the occasional "lesson" from the boss. On a more robust, muscular figure, the rugged skin might've looked appealing (in that roguish sort of way that he used to admire Blank for), but on _his_ scrawny frame... He just looked like a beaten, broken canvas, the painting abandoned midway through. It wasn't attractive, for sure, and Zidane was surprised his wife never remarked on his... reduced state.

Then again, if he was ever shirtless around his wife, it was in a dark bedroom, where there were much, much more interesting things to... notice.

"I see..." Tot yielded. He bid his patient sit still and breathe steadily while the stethoscope was tested. After a couple of minutes, his diagnosis was, "Huh."

"'Huh'?" Zidane parroted. "Is that your official medical opinion?"

"Very droll. I only meant, that doesn't sound quite right. Your heart has an odd murmur to it."

Zidane blinked, vaguely perturbed. "The heck does that mean?"

"I'm not sure yet, but please be cautious. Avoid any undue stress, and start eating better." Tot prodded the distinct edge of his ribs with a stern finger. "That's not healthy."

"Yeah, yeah..." Zidane grumbled again, and pulled his shirt back on.

"All right," the doctor granted, "Enough lecturing for today." He stuffed his instruments back into his briefcase, cleared the round table in the middle of the room and rummaged about until a stack of playing cards was procured. Tot began to shuffle the deck, baiting his opponent with a friendly voice and shrewd wink. "Would you entertain a card game with me? If you win, I'll promise not to tell anyone about your fear of needles."

Zidane sprang from the bunk with a playful sneer. "I am gonna _whoop your ass_."

* * *

A/N: I live! And just to note that the fear of hornets isn't _completely_ irrational, keep in mind that on Gaia the buggers are about two feet tall and can inflict berserk. (They're still wimps, but there you have it.)


	3. Pride

**2. Pride**

He went to bed early, had more fits than dreams, woke up too early in the morning to help himself and it still hurt. It hurt like bees under his skin and a thorn bush tumbling around in his stomach, and when he inhaled it hurt like fire, sapping the air from his lungs. His blood turned to slush and his heart heaved and wobbled-he could practically feel it sweating under the strain.

He had hoped lounging on his pillow all night would ameliorate his suffering, and it did by a small degree, but when he set his feet on the cold floor and tried to shrug the pain loose, he was shoved back to the bed by a wave of sickly vertigo. He closed his eyes, doubled over the side of the mattress, held his ribs and breathed with cautious restraint, waiting for the sparkly bubbles to fizzle out of his vision and the jagged ice to thaw out of his veins. If he moved suddenly, he was sure he would collapse. He hated waking up like this.

It was going to be a bad day. Well, he coached himself, it was too soon to call it. This pain wasn't a new or unfamiliar development. He'd had mornings worse than this, and he anticipated many worse to come. Zidane had to take the good with the bad, and do his best. It wasn't a bad day... yet.

He slowly, slowly, slowly eased onto his feet again, tail waving unsteadily and hands leaning on the dark wooden dresser next to his bed for support. The air bore a stinging chill that made his sweat bead like snow. He shuddered, some rattling groan stuck in his throat, and wondered if he was going to throw up or pass out first. Hopefully not both at once; he could choke to death, and that would be unpleasant-a nasty surprise to leave for the maids.

Not that they were allowed in, anyway. He probably wouldn't be discovered for another day or so, when Garnet decides to go looking for him, or...

After a few deep, escalating breaths, warmth trickled into his bones, the nausea ebbed, and he finally found the strength to start the morning. He glanced around his room with regained clarity. The sun hadn't actually risen yet, so dawn's blues were first to crawl in through the window box, the waking twilight squinting through green curtains and yawning across vanilla wallpaper. Slick marble tiles stuck to the soles of his feet, and wax-stained wooden planks filled the spaces between the rafters (sometimes he would lie in bed and draw imaginary figures in their textured swirls, ones that danced and fenced in the flickering candlelight. Sometimes he was very bored.)

_His_ room. Zidane never quite wrapped his head around that. At its initial suggestion, a room to himself seemed absurd. If he was sleeping with the queen, why couldn't her chamber be his as well? Anything more was superfluous. Decorum insisted, however, and early on in their arrangement, Garnet let him pick out one of the guest bedrooms in the lower wing. It was supposed to be a gracious gesture, though she did have her own motivation behind it.

Zidane could be as lazy as he was easygoing, and he was prone to take naps any time, anywhere. _Anywhere_. He had been caught dozing in nearly every chamber of the castle at least once, a few times on the parapets, and several times in the gardens. Like an obtuse cat, he regarded everything as a potential bed: wicker chairs, desks and tables, open bookshelves, plush rugs, stony crenels, tree branches, unattended boats, bathtubs, twisting balustrades ("How in the world can you stay balanced long enough to go to sleep?" "...Oops?") and even the grand piano in the east banquet hall (though it was easy to rouse him from that particular perch, and never did he try it again.) And he was never too modest to sleep on the ground, if all else failed.

"You can't just sleep all and about the place, Zidane," Garnet one day confronted him. "It draws attention. People look down on you for it-sometimes literally. And for that matter Steiner almost tripped over you, multiple times. He won't let me hear the end of it."

"I don't give a damn what people think!"

"Well I do. I don't like to listen to the ugly things people are saying about my husband, especially if I know it's not true, and you don't deserve it. Besides, isn't it more comfortable to sleep in a real bed?"

He grudgingly admitted that it was more comfortable (if less convenient), and let her have her way. For such a generous, honest and soft-spoken soul, Garnet could be a persuasive diplomat. It's what made her such a popular queen, and Zidane could respect that; there were times he was even a little in awe of it. He was lucky to have such a beautiful and intelligent wife, he knew, and if he was honestly embarrassing her, he could cut it out.

At first his room was just an overgrown closet to keep his clothes and meager belongings: a beaten leather rucksack stuffed with daggers, a liquor bottle filled with strange coins, a cryptic dog tag and odd stage props. It wasn't until later, once he grew too tired and too sick to follow Garnet all over the castle like a puppy, that he accepted the commodity. Thusly his routine evolved:

In the mornings, he would wake in the queen's chamber next to his wife, share a few drowsy kisses and then waive the invitation to breakfast while she dressed and left. He'd linger under the sheets a while longer before the maids barged in and swept him out. Then he would slink off to his own room and curl up on the bed, grasping at a few precious hours of peace before lunch.

And that was on a good day. On days like this, struck low by illness, he avoided his wife's room altogether. It was the privacy, something he'd never grown up with and never felt he needed, that he ultimately appreciated the most. His room was his haven, his retreat from the rest of the castle and its stifling, confounding routine, and not even Rusty had the gall to disturb it. He had Garnet order the maids away long ago, so he could keep his quarters in comfortable, personal disorder.

At the foot of the post-less bed sat a dusty, distressed trunk harvested from Ruby's mini-theatre, its eclectic contents spewed over the surrounding floor (including a pink feather-boa that he just couldn't throw away), and in a corner away from the dresser was an elegant cedar wardrobe, but those aside, he didn't have any spare furnishings. He had thought to paint the walls or get a bookshelf or something, but he wasn't artistic and he never owned any books. Blank liked to read, but the hobby never had a quick enough pace for Zidane. He only began to utilize the castle library for something besides comfortable chairs to sleep in once he ran out of everything else to do. He was simply never motivated enough to put any lively stock in his room.

He lit a chamberstick set on the wall, gathered a toothbrush and a rag and ambled to the washbasin. It was going to be an okay day. He just had to take things easy or the pain would get worse, and he couldn't afford to be crippled today. He was lucky, though-as far as tolerating it, he had a long, easy learning curve; most of his maladies developed gradually over the past few years. He knew well how to ignore them, if he had to.

The only matter was making sure everyone else ignored them, and he peered critically into the glass over the washbasin.

_'Do I look that bad?'_

He wasn't in the habit of looking in the mirror. Not that he didn't have the vanity for it, once upon a time, but delicate props never lasted long in the Tantalus den, even ones that threatened seven years of bad luck. His perception of himself was brash enough, anyway. Lately he avoided them to avoid the truth, just to keep a shred of that old, robust self-image in his mind, even if it didn't show in his body anymore. Alexandria Castle was overly fond of looking glasses, however, especially in the bedroom, so it was inevitable that he'd catch himself and stop to wonder...

_'Nah, it's not that obvious, right?'_ He tipped his chin to catch the fickle light in his reflection. Indoor shades only accentuated the dark circles under his eyes, granting him a ghastly mask. He looked better under sunlight, really-like he'd actually slept a day in his life. It was easy to hide his skeletal pallor and mottled scars under baggy shirts and robes with long sleeves, but if his fatigue started to show on his _face_, well... short of putting on makeup (and he was _not _going there) there was nothing he could do. He could barely hide the truth from Tot anymore, and if the demi-bird was corresponding with Mikoto, it was only a matter of time before he figured it all out. Zidane trusted his sister's powers of discretion, but Tot was a smart man and a good doctor-a little _too_ good, which was becoming the problem.

A flimsy swath of dead white hair slipped down his brow and into his eyes, and he blew it out of the way with a huff. He needed a haircut pretty badly. He knew what it looked like-_whom_ it made him look like.

He wondered how Kuja handled this situation. Well, he knew how he ultimately dealt with it, but that wasn't any comfort. Mikoto said their experience would be similar, if not identical, and that's what worried him. Kuja had his makeup and his magic-to hide the exhaustion, to ward off the pain... What did _he_ have? No medicine, no magic, and definitely no looking like a girl. So what was going to happen? If it kept getting worse, would it wear him down? Drive him mad?

"No," he swore into the mirror, "I won't let this beat me. I won't turn down the path he did. No matter how bad it gets, I won't forget who I am. I can't..."

He trailed off, mulling over his options and resources. He hadn't told anyone yet. No one. He had his reasons, even if they weren't that good. The people around him wouldn't want to know-hell, _he_ didn't want to know, and even if he told them, they wouldn't be able to help. It wasn't that simple. He'd just become a pointless burden, and he wanted to hold his own. He wanted to be strong. He'd still have some dignity left, before it was all over. He wasn't sure how he could stand it if people suddenly _felt sorry_ for him.

There were a few individuals-very few, who might have a right to know, or even be able to help. His sister was his only confidant thus far, and that's only because she was the one who told him what was happening in the first place. He wouldn't have suspected a thing if his hair hadn't started turning white. It was just a little _premature_ for a man of twenty-one years, and his friends kept asking if he was dyeing it. He assured them he wasn't that crazy, but it eventually bothered him enough to write a questioning letter. Mikoto's knowledge was insightful, if rarely helpful, and even less optimistic. ("It's necrosis of the hair follicles." "Neck rope the hair folly what?" "It's not good." "Oh.")

Then there was Tot, a good man with potions. It would be a piece of cake to get medicine from the doctor, but Zidane didn't want to exploit that (even if he was practically owed it, for all the lab work.) He was too reluctant to ask, and he couldn't explain why, even to himself. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was fear. He didn't really know how Tot would react, and that unknown scared him-scared him almost as badly as telling his wife would.

He couldn't tell Garnet. He couldn't even bear thinking about telling Garnet. He knew that no matter whether she got mad, or sad, or threw things at him, or was perfectly sympathetic, or even said nothing at all, the result would be the same: she would cry. If he was going to have to watch her cry, he might as well crawl into a hole and die right then, because it would break his heart. Maybe it made him a coward, but that was that. It was a shame, because her white magic could do him a lot of good, even if it was only temporary relief.

He shook his head. This was depressing. He needed to think about something else. He had another appointment with Tot today. It was hard to believe it had been a month since the last check-up, already. The doctor was probably going to ask about his eating habits, since it came up last time, so he might as well go eat breakfast-then he would have at least one point for the inevitable argument.

Zidane finished washing up, climbed into his favorite cloth habit (delectable, durable purple carrion worm silk, sewn into the humble, voluminous style of the Gizamalukan monks-Freya about laughed her tail off when she first saw him wearing it) and skipped downstairs, questing for the kitchen. Despite the rough start, he was in a good mood. That almost amazed him, but then again it usually took something drastic to sour his sanguine disposition. If he had to grump and sulk every time he wasn't feeling well, he'd never have a good day anymore.

He meandered through the grand hall and down the stairs, waving cheerfully at guards who passed him surprised greetings. He supposed they weren't used to seeing him around the castle at this hour. The clatter of pots and pans lured him to the servants' floor, where he followed a rolling cart that smelled inviting back up to the dining room.

One servant wordlessly glided around the walls, lighting candles and opening curtains, and two others unloaded clean dishes and trays of food while the room flourished into daylight. Zidane fecklessly offered to help but was brushed aside, and he stood idly by the door while the servants automatically bustled through motions he didn't understand, anyway. It was like watching a line of mechanics at an airship dock, or actors in a silent play, each worker chipping in their part and then swiftly leaving the stage. A couple of maids bowed primly to him on the way out, and before he knew it he was alone.

He scratched his head and wandered up to the abandoned table. It was a veritable feast, decked in white and lavished in silver, and the platters were almost works of art in themselves. Zidane peeked under covered trays to admire what Quina would call "tasty yummies": grapes, dates, sliced pears, twisted bread, sausage rolls, berries, biscuits and jam, sweet cakes, boiled eggs with some kind of fancy garnish, little cubes of cheese and a bowl of steaming, cream-like soup (he skimmed it with his finger-it tasted like potatoes.)

All for one person-a meal fit for royalty, though not even a king could demolish a spread like that in one sitting. How lavish, how excessive. Zidane used to wonder what happened to the leftovers, until he went ahead and asked one of the kitchen staff. Apparently the cooks and maids got second dibs, and the cats and rats out the back door slurped up every unchecked crumb. Considering the head chef was a Qu, it was astounding if there was anything left to throw away. It was a relief that nothing went to waste; Zidane's old boss would've had a fit to hear otherwise ("Quit yer bellyachin'! I busted my ass to get you this grub and you better eat every bite or I'll feed _you_ to the dogs! Gwahahaha!")

A deliberate cough from the corner snagged Zidane's attention. He turned to find a tall, smartly dressed, balding man in a suit and ruffle tie staring at him coldly. The Genome pulled away from the food and offered a silly chuckle. "Haha, didn't see you there. Hey, aren't you the butler?"

Broad clay lips pursed into a flat scowl. "I am."

"That's cool. You seem kinda familiar. Did you just start working here? What's your name? And where's Dagger?" He swung an inquisitive glance around the room, one hand carelessly scratching his behind.

"It shall be several minutes before Her Majesty attends the table," the butler answered stiffly.

"Oh. I guess I'm early," Zidane said obliviously. He drummed his fingers on the tablecloth and contemplated one of the dozen chairs before pulling it out and settling in. "She won't mind if I dig in, then."

Before him was a sprawl of plates, spoons, forks and knives, each of varied sizes. He had a vague recollection of what they were all for, though that was from limited lessons on the subject. Boss and Ruby taught him how to fake manners ages ago ("You never know when it'll come in handy! Good manners can be a perfect disguise. You can get right in there behind those noble snobs' backs! Gwahaha!"), and Dagger had some instructions on the "proper" way to eat at the dinner table, but this was breakfast. Breakfast had a whole different set of stabby-things and scoopy-things, and he couldn't remember which put the what in the where. He just needed one to shovel _food_ into his _mouth_. Why did it have to be so complicated here? He'd had this debate with Garnet before, of course. The compromise ended up being "don't eat at the table at all if you don't want to learn how," and to her vexation he actually didn't have a problem with that.

After a while of fruitless study he shrugged and gave up. The butler didn't make a sound as Zidane rummaged through the grape bowl, sat back and started eating some out of his hand. He was assuredly doing something _improper_, because after a long minute the man stepped up to his chair, drilling him from above with an imperious glower.

"Uh, yes?" the Genome spoke with a mouthful of grapes-and suddenly Zidane knew what he recognized about the man. It was _that look_. He'd been on the receiving end many times from nobles that crossed him on the street and in the theatre houses. It was that "you're just an actor, a worthless street urchin spawn of a peasant, posing as one of us" look. Since he was married to the Queen of Alexandria, it had been a long time since anyone dared to give him that look, and he'd almost forgotten what it was like.

The butler merely clucked, gathered the grapes that had tumbled from the bowl, set them in a saucer and pushed it in front of Zidane. He then stood back, nose pointed out a high window.

Zidane's tail bristled, his good spirits evaporating. "You got something to say to me, buddy?" he challenged, not afraid of some castle critic.

The butler's retort was smooth, straight-laced and impeccably disdainful. "It is not my place to instruct an uncouth savage on table etiquette, even if he is the queen's husband."

-2-

Garnet was pacing towards the dining room, prepared to sit down to another ordinary breakfast by herself, when the door ahead swung open and a white and purple blur stormed through. By the time she recognized Zidane he was already speeding past, and he only met her with a sidelong glance and a gruff, "Mornin'," before he was up the stairs and gone, tail thrashing like a ridiculous propellor.

Flustered and confused by the apparition, she proceeded into the dining room to look for the source of the matter. All she found was a displaced chair, a handful of grapes and an agitated butler, sputtering curses and wiping steaming hot soup from his face.

-2-

He was going to sulk in his room, but it was no good; that was the first place Garnet looked. Zidane sat brooding on the edge of his bed while she interrogated him, hands propped on hips. "What is wrong with you? What did you do to the butler?"

"What? A little potato soup never hurt anyone." He sounded too peevish to be frivolous, and that didn't help his cause. He didn't care.

"It _scalded_ him. Why did you do that?"

"Because he's an _asshole_. He called me an 'uncouth savage'! What did you expect me to do?"

Garnet flapped her arms, duly exasperated. "Prove him right, I guess! Zidane, this isn't the sort of place where you can just lash out violently at everyone who insults you!"

"Why not? Rusty tries to clock me all the time!"

Her shoulders slumped and she tipped her head with a tiny sigh, features softening with sympathy. "That's different and you know it. There are proper ways to deal with people like him. I can teach you, if you like."

Her patronizing offer was bitter consolation, and he crossed his arms and snorted. "Yeah whatever, thanks for taking my side."

The queen inflated like a hen, returning his scorn. "Fine, keep acting like a child. You can come back to the dining room whenever you feel like being an adult."

Her hand was on the doorknob when his reply hit her in the back, roiling her hackles as well as his. "Are you _forbidding_ me to eat in the dining room?"

She whirled around, facing his audacity with an equal dose of outrage. They exchanged ice and fire-his dull white hair frayed around a frozen glare, and her dark mane shining behind eyes tinged with Bahamut's flare. She looked like a vengeful goddess, almost as attractive as she was terrible, and in his anger Zidane had to bite down a compulsion to jump her on the spot.

"Yes," she finished their staring contest, deciding that he had a good idea. "I am, until you apologize to that butler."

Garnet stepped out and slammed the door before he could work up another outburst, and she was faintly heard muttering, "Infuriating!" as her footsteps faded away. Stymied, Zidane hurled a pillow across the room (it hit the door with an impotent, unsatisfying thump) and flopped over the bed, burying his face in his arms.

That went well. What was he, twelve years old? An uncouth, savage twelve-year-old, at that. There was no way he could apologize to anyone now, much less leave his room, without looking like a jackass. He didn't even want to move. He felt like crap, looked like crap and was two steps away from no longer giving a crap.

Then he remembered that he still had to go meet Tot in a few hours.

Zidane groaned. Today was a bad day.

-2-

Tot dipped his beak, furrowed his bushy brow and peered over the rim of his glasses to treat his test subject with an acutely dubious look. It could have been unnerving, but Zidane merely stared into the other corner with a worn, glazed expression, unresponsive.

In fact, "unresponsive" was a good way to describe Zidane's condition throughout their visit. He parked like a beached porpoise in the bunk nearest the door and gave low-key, monosyllabic answers to the doctor's laundry list of questions. Even as simple a query as, "How are you feeling?" was shrugged off with a mumble.

The rest of the examination wasn't uplifting, either. His skin was cool and pale, almost clammy, and his pulse slow yet erratic-not to mention the prominent, meatless shape of his collarbone. He didn't even react to having his tail brushed the wrong way, and Tot knew that was a reliable source of agitation. When asked if he felt ill, however, the doctor got a negative.

"My, someone's gloomy today," Tot finally remarked, to get his attention if nothing else, and at the slight accusation the Genome picked his head up off the rough brick wall and rubbed his eyes.

"Huh? Oh, sorry Doc. Guess I'm off in space today."

"I see. You look like you're about to fall asleep."

Zidane threw him a listless smile. "Didn't sleep much last night, heh."

"Why not?"

"Oh, ah..." He shifted uneasily, tail ticking once. "Nothin'. Just one of those nights, y'know."

Tot wasn't a fool, nor was he unobservant. He had been suspecting something amiss for a while, and subtle conversations around the castle only fueled his concern. His scholarly friends in the library reported the Genome's gradual transformation over the years: the way his hair turned frosty, his voice dull and his mannerisms languid, and with increasing rarity was he even seen wandering the halls, much less causing mischief.

Lord Steiner considered his docile change of heart laudable, chalking it up to the good influences of the castle, but Tot could see his fragile figure and the persistent dark rings under his eyes and knew better. The Zidane he met and knew was vivacious, healthy and free-spirited, and any deviation from that was a sign of trouble.

Tot surprised his subject once more by scaling the bunk and taking a seat on the edge next to him. He removed his spectacles and began to polish them with a handkerchief as he announced soberly, "We need to talk, I think."

Zidane sat up straight, instantly wary of the shift in the doctor's tone. "Uh, okay. What's up?"

"I think the question rather is, 'What's wrong?'"

"Huh?" The Genome scratched the back of his neck, covering up a flash of alarm, and laughed a little too quickly, "Haha, nothing, nothing's wrong. Why?"

Tot pinned him with that skeptical look again, frankly scolding, "Now that's rubbish, if you'll pardon my saying so. You're as transparent as a glass book. Even if everyone else is fooled, I can see something's wrong. What do you need to hide? You shouldn't have to keep anything from us, or at least from me. You know I hold everything in these little sessions in strict confidence."

"Except for what you tell my sister, huh?" Zidane rebutted, accusing on his own terms.

The doctor mellowed. "Master Zidane, please..."

Zidane turned away, head bowed with the weight of defeat. "It's nothing... It's complicated."

"It doesn't have to be. Are you sick? Are you depressed?"

No response.

Tot laid a large, feathery hand on his shoulder, as if anchoring him to the present. "I just want to help, you know. I'm concerned for your health. You've lost a lot of weight..." The demi-bird flicked aside a stray lock of silver. "...and color. You're not taking good care of yourself, and I'd like to know why."

"I'm not sick, it's just..." He wiggled again, trapped and uncomfortable. "It's not easy to explain."

"I'm listening."

The Genome sniffed irritably, his obstinance finally trumped by another's. Tot waited, and watched. Zidane started to say one thing, and then something else, and then something different altogether, but nothing made it past his lips. Eventually a solemn, resigned resolution dawned on his expression, and he closed his eyes and sighed. "It's just, what's the point if... If I'm not going to last past twenty-five?"

Tot blinked, disarmed-by his sudden honesty as much as the dreadful implications. He nearly dropped his spectacles. "Who told you that?"

"My sister."

"Oh." He didn't speak for several seconds, digesting the fact. Tot eventually remarked, rather dryly, "I see she might have made a serious omission in her letters."

"I asked her not to tell anyone," Zidane glumly explained.

"Why?"

"It's not like I wanted to believe her," Zidane didn't exactly answer, but once he started to spill the story, he found he couldn't stop. "But from the moment she told me... I knew she was right. I can feel it."

Tot gathered a tall breath, retaining his businesslike composure. "And how long ago was this? When did she tell you?"

"Last time she came to visit. I think it was three, four years ago?"

Tot gaped at him, aghast. "And you've kept it to yourself all this time?"

He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what to do. It's not like I can help it. Telling everyone would only make things worse."

"What about Her Majesty?"

Zidane shook his head, uttering with a thread of guilt, "I can't..."

Tot frowned. "But now you're telling me? Why?"

His voice cracked a little, on the brink of emotions too deep for him to handle, as he forced a watery smile. "I don't really know. You must bring out the worst in me, Doc."

"Oh dear..." Tot replaced his glasses and hopped off the bunk, his heart all the heavier. He waddled towards his briefcase, fished out a notepad and found a quill pen. "What am I going to do with you? Looks like there's no choice. You have to tell me everything, now."

-2-

He made Tot promise. _Promise_. The doctor swore "with great difficulty," and Zidane knew what he meant. It wasn't easy-it was what he was afraid of.

It was a little easier, now that he's told at least one person. Maybe someday, before it's too late, he'd work up the courage to tell...

"There you are."

It was well after dark, the castle's ostentatious glow subdued to candlelight, and he was on his way back to his room when Garnet caught him in the hall. She was unattended and there were no guards posted nearby; it was unusual to encounter the queen roaming the castle by herself. Strange as it was, when she wasn't flanked by royal bodyguards or being escorted to one official task or another, she more resembled Dagger than Queen Garnet. The free, independent girl was a humbling sight, and Zidane nearly smiled before he remembered their harsh parting words earlier that day.

"Oh, hi Dagger." He flinched as the due apology inched up his throat like bile. It had been several hours, and time to swallow his pride. "Listen, I, uh..."

She didn't break her fluid, confident stride, walking right up to him and kissing his cheek. Her hair smelled sweet, like an exotic fruit, and the way her soft hands curled around his arm gave him a giddy rush. "I'm glad you came to breakfast this morning, even if it didn't work out," she said gently, negating his half-baked admission. She turned up a long-lashed look, forgiveness already burnt to embers in her warm, sincere eyes, and asked sweetly, "Will you come back in the morning?"

Zidane couldn't decide which was more beautiful: an angry Garnet or a kind Dagger, but then he realized he had the best of both worlds, already. He grinned like a lout, too enchanted to resist. "...Yeah, why not?"

Garnet smiled back, not too coy and not too lascivious, and tugged on his sleeve as she tread backwards the way she came. "Come on then, let's go to bed. I've thought of a way you can _really_ make it up to me." Zidane fell into step with her, purring something doubtlessly lewd, and Her Majesty laughed something young and wonderful.

Today wasn't such a bad day, after all.

* * *

A/N: Lookie there, I can almost write fluff. That makes me almost-proud.

Next time: Anger. Thanks for your reviews!


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